These Chains to Bind Me
by Malice Shaw
Summary: How Anima became an Aeon to Seymour, and how she feels watching his actions, and why she cries. Spoilers if you haven't made the attempt to get Anima yet.


These chains to bind me.  
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I wear these chains for a reason. That reason is Love. 

He wanted me to stay with him, hold his hand and caress his cyan tinted hair while he cradled against my knee, begging me to stay with him until the ends of Spira and beyond. The warm tears he cried burned my skin like molten lava as he held on, scared, powerless to keep me from my destiny but tempting none the less. I was so tempted to pick him up in my weakened arms and cry my own tears onto his cheek, press him to me and stay forever with him in my grasps and send praise to Yevon for granting me this one gift, this one child, this one hope for all of Guadusalom. 

It was so desperately hard to concieve him. Our races, Jyscal's and mine, our genes did not match well at all. It took many prayers to many temples, many angry lashings at the praises to yevon I constantly spued to finally realize that my tummy was swelling with our pride and joy. The birthing process revelaed to us that I could no longer have any children: my heart would not allow me the strength to contously beat against my frame if I happened to concieve another. As it was I was bedridden for months after Seymour, with my only contact with him until I begged for Jyscal to place his crib in my room would be to hold him and feed him, although I was told that I could not breast feed him; my strength would be neede for recovery, and he would do well on the bottle. Yet I refused. I needed to connect with him, not be different like other mothers, but connect with him the very same way my own mother connected with me: to give him the milk from my body, from my sould, to quench his thirst and quiet his cries, as he slept agaisnt my breast, entwining his fingers though my hair in his sleep. It was only then that I would allow my husband to take him from me, and place him back in his crib, that I would sleep with a smile on my face, knowing that I could protect him in the night. 

Yet I could not protect him from the taunts and shouts of other children, calling him a halfling, a freak of nature. Nature could never make a mistake, never! Seymour is my child, my beautiful child. I always thought I could be there for him, hold him in my lap when he cried and screamed out the names they called him. In my withered heart I always knew that these days it would happen to him, no matter who he was. Whether he was the one to bring the race of Human and Guado together as Jyscal said, or the one who would someday lead the land of the Guado as others claimed, he would always be my son. My beautiful, wonderful son, shamefaced to some, handsome to others, but forever entranced and beautiful in my eyes. The first night he came to be, from school, his tears falling from his face like melted snow flakes I swore to him I would always be there for protect him, no matter what occured. I also swore to myself, that even from beyond the grave I would protect him. 

That day, I promised him power. 

That day, I corrupted him. 

When the time came for my withering heart to cease it's beats, he was no older than six. My heart, which beat only for him and Jyscal, began to fail worse than before. I could not bear to leave him, Seymour, alone in this world with out my lap to cry upon, with out my comforting arms around him, no, I could never leave him. For months I sought out other practices, other medicines, and all of them, evry doctor that saw me shook their head sadly and recommended I say my goodbyes. Each moment that passed my heart grew weaker and weaker until one day I could not find the power to pull myself from bed, and remained there. My son's echoing screams, his torment, haunted my soul as well as the halls as he pounded on them in his frustrations over other children's refusal to accept a half Human, half Guado amongst their ranks. His shrill cries grew louder when he was informed that I was too sick to see him, too tired to nurture his tortured soul and I cried as well. I slept on a soaked, salty pillow for nights on end, until one day, on one of my stronger days when I was able to sit up with out the help of my dear Jyscal, did he tell me of of what I thought would be my one last hope to forever hold Seymour in my heart, and I in his own. 

"Fayth." He whispered, stroking my sweat drenched hair. "Fayth. If you become a Fayth.." 

"Then I can.." It seemed much to good to be true, I thought as I cried tender tears into Jyscal's shoulder. 

"No, darling." Jyscal murmered in my ear. "It will allow you to become an Aeon, allow you to live. But only under command of either I or Seymour. It would not be true living.." 

But I rebelled. Death, I did not fear. it had been haunting me for years, causing my breath to fade and my heart to beat slower, and slower until it would beat no more. The most cause of my fear would be that I could not protect my son, could not pull him back away from the tirades of pain that he must have gone through daily. This way, I could protect him, and hold him close to my heart and become him, for I would take place in his heart as well. Therefor, I could never leave him. Ever. 

It deemed too good to be true, yet it was my only chance to watch my son grow into the handsome man he was destined to become. 

I learned then, much to late for my chargine, that some times some things can be too good to be true. 

After much convincing Jyscal finally gave in to my demands, and when the day came for me to leave, a reknewed strength fitted my limbs and I walked out of my room, hand in hand with my beautiful son. When I brought myself to my knees to face him, eye to eye, and told him of my pending fate, he began to cry again. My already torn heart was broken, shattered like glass once more when I stood up and he thrust his tiny body to me, begging me not to go. Inside, I forced myself to grow cold, ignore his cries and place my hand on his shoulders to tell him that it was my life, my duty. 

"My fate.. Seymour, don't cry." I murmered, pressing a kiss into his hair. "I have to go. Please, understand." 

Instead his cries grew louder as he pushed me away, rubbing the tears from his swollen eyes. He knew, deep down that I loved him, and this was truely the right thing to do, or so I thought at the time. This way, although my body would be withered and grey, I could be there by his side, holding his hand in his mind and protect him, if doom ever wished to cast it's gaze on his beautiful face. 

"I love you." Were my last words to him, as Jyscal pressured me away. I sincerally doubt he heard me, but I did like to think, convince myself, that he did. 

So we went to the Baaj temple, and there, as I stripped down nude, I gazed upon myself as I stepped into the liquid ice that would hold me in it's grasps. My body, once so youthful and beautiful, was old now, lined in places that were once smooth, scarred in places that were once unblemished. Sickness and bearing a large child had taken it's toll upon my withered form, taken from me my youth and dexterity. I had never fully gazed upon myself before, much too busy battling my immune system and caring for my child to notice before, but all in those six years I had grown old, evaporating into thin air like a Sent soul. I would have weeped if not for Jyscal's gaze, looking upon my bosy as if it was still youthful, beautiful in his wonderful eyes. 

Slowly I stepped into the pool, letting the ice like glass cover my body full. I cast one last look at my truest of loves and felt meloncholy as a tear slid down his cheek. 

"Do not be frightened." I told him, a wry smile appearing on my lips. "I will be here, for you, soon enough." 

WIth that I plunged, feeling my life essense escape me. It would not be until much later, when I was first called upon did I become alive again. 

When I once again gained life.. 

...And destroyed my child's innocense. 

He called upon me first, the day after Jyscal brought him to me to recieve. Cruel taunts from children of only half his brethren claimed his soul when he screamed not 'mother' but 'Anima', my Yevon praised name. With his own heart he commanded me to slay them, hurt them far more than they had hurt him, destroy their life essenses in a flash of power. I came, pouring from the ground like hot oil, burning those who dare touched me, and I hurt them, killed them, leaving one alive only to spread to word to tell others to fear him, oblige him in every way possible. With his shrill cry of fear I turned to him and watched, as a single tear delved down his cheek and rest upon his elongated fingers. As I watched the flowing drop of crystal escape his eyes, I wanted to cry as well, yet could only muster a single tear, which I always shed each time his voice commanded me to his will. 

He tasted power then. Corrupted with me flowing through his veins he laughed, savouring the feel of power. In his mind he created me, beautiful yet cunning, charming and seduceful, enough to cause a mass of Spira to fall before my graces. Yet inside he blamed me, still, even as his mind's eye created me into a beautiful form, his heart gave me an ugly soul. My beauty was only skin deep to him now, and it would take only a splinter, a small yet noticable drop of water in an overfilled jug for his hate for me to boil over and he would despise me forever, my beauty turning ugly to him, and my tears becoming acid. His heart and mind created me. Created me in his own wake. 

Beautiful, flowing wings to surround me, and forever remind him that I was his long standing angel. 

Long, flowing dark hair, that at one time when he slept beside me only to run his fingers through my silky ebony strands as he slept. 

A pendant around my neck, which I wore constantly, so he would always know that it was I inside this newly restored form. 

He created me beautiful, at first. My chains did not come until later. Until I finally glanced at my form through my unseen eye and hated it. He had made me beautiful, yes, but so scorned was I that he would take me with only an intent to kill, that I marred my body with my lacquered nails, drawing blood on my newly restored flesh. Each slash I slammed into my body he felt, each stream of crimson fluid that trailed down my bludgeoned skin tickled his own. I pulled my hair out, locke by precious locke until finally he screamed for no more, yet I refused to comply. With one last movement I sliced open one eye, desperate to get to the other so I can refuse to see what he was doing before he stopped me. Gripping both of my hand in his mental grasp he screamed at me, screamed and yelled out all his childhood frustrations over my leaving him to become a Fayth, and coming back not as a mother, but as a fragmented spirit, a piece to what he was so used to as a whole. 

"You refuse to accept it?" He shouted at me, his saliva flowing from his lips to burn my tender flesh. "Then take it as you are! You are _not_ my mother but a thing, a thing to play with, a petty toy! Now do your shame! Make the others, all of the, make them feel my pain!" 

So he bound me, with bandages that quickly crusted over with caked blood to soothe wounds that would never heal. My face, covered, leaving one black eye for me to see and shed a tear each painful time he called upon me out of hatred. The bones from my wings, he viciously tore out through the skin, causing them to become a venus fly trap of sorts, covering me whole when he had no use for me. Each time I was commanded to obey, my swan like voice, once so innocent and pure to any mortal's ears thrashed and torn into a wretched screech, until, finally, my own pain would over come me and I would cry for him, cry for the tiny boy who had become a man due to the gift of power I bestowed upon him. The pain I inflict on his enemies mimics the pain I inflicted on him, tearing his work apart with my own bare hands, tainting my beauty with my claws. The deaths of so many fiends that he had unleashed in Luca, they scream loudly as he Sends them, they mimic the thousand deaths I have caused on his sould, creating within him walls of indifference and destruction, thirsting for power beyond all control. Each scream I cry as my power, controlled by his Guadoish hands, mimics the crying screams he currowed to me, begging for me not to go. 

I was there when Jyscal fell at his hands, yet I still defended him. My beautiful son had his reasons, or I thought so at the time. It wasn't for long that I finally realized the truth. 

He did not understand Death, damn him. 

He could not understand that I had no choice. 

But I did. I did, I truely did.. 

To die, and never watch my son grow into the handsome man, his face becoming similar to ice with his Guado veins upon his forhead, or to live, and protect him as I promised so long ago I would? 

"_Seymour.._" I whisper, as I reach out to touch him in his sleep. The caked blood upon my bandages cracked and bled, dropping hardened particles of crimson lifeblood onto a non existant floor. 

"Death awaits you!" He hissed back dreamily. A shock of pain and I was encased in darkness. 

I did not awaken until they fought the girl and her comrades. It was the second time I died in my life time. 

"Feel my pain!" His shrill cry of anger, haunting my ears, haunting my soul. "Come, Anima!" 

The angry metal of an anchor erupted me from the ground, pulling me upwards. Molten lava fell on my skin, burning me alive again. My agonized wail merely made him smile, which made me push against my chains to no avail. He bound me in them, so he controls me. Forever chained to him, my destiny for my loss in his life as a physical mother. Inside my heart raged at him for binding me to his will, as he sat back haugtilly, a smirk perched upon his lips as he watched my form tear open the ground, my thrashings and screams rip apart the ground beneath the Summoner and her guardian's feet, causing them to lose all stability. I fought against my barrings, holding completley still until until I felt the familiar reason of doubt from him. For the first time since my capture, since these chains of love I allowed myself to be bound upon me to save what little love he had for me and keep it close, wrapped around me like a chard of velvet glass, covering yet still cutting me close. This was not right. Summoners may fight summoners, but never, never like this. 

It never occured to me until that moment that my son was a summoner. A summoner with out a pilgrimage is like a mortal that lacked a sould. 

Seymour was both. 

It took all my strength to hold back in that battle, ignore his mental commands to fight. And when I fell I knew, as my Aeon body felt so much pain that I was pulled away from him, the feeling like ripped paper that I knew my son was dead. 

Yet I could not help but feel that possibly, I was the one who killed him. 

In the sea of liquid glass I slept a dreamless sleep until the summoner awoken me, asking for my help. She recognized me immediately, her mismatched eyes widening as her fingers pressed to her lips in shock. I told her of my crimes, of my sins. I watched their eyes cloud over with anger and frustration, although their stances remained the same. I asked them, if they hated my son, and they gave me no answer. Yet I could see it in their eyes, how the blonde boy clenched his fists in anger, how the young Summoner's face grew into a frown, a look that was not meant for her delicate features. The large Ronso's eyes narrowed, while the young man holding a ball seemed nearly unable to control his rage until the young blonde child, the waif like girl placed a calming hane upon his shoulders. The woman in black and her counterpart, the dark looking older man seemed undisturbed, yet their emotions, all of them, washed over me like a tidal wave of frustration, anger, and fear. It hurt, much more than the death of my only child, because all of this, I had caused. I had ravaged them of their innocence, plagued them like this. 

With that I offered them my guidance, my hand. I begged them of one last wish. My son was an unsent. As soon as the summoner allowed my one request, to send him to the Farplane, I allowed her to absorb me. I tried to make teh transaction as painless as possible, and I succeeded. Now, I was one with my child's enemy. 

Yet I did not have any regrets. 

When the time came to confront him, I shed yet another tear for my beautiful son. His features, what was left of them was contorted into a simplistic rage as he recognized the girl calling me. It wasn't until she had called upon Anima, the one he had used to make others feel his pain did I inflict as much pain on him as I would any other. And I enjoyed it. 

The frustration of him creating me the way he saw fit, the anger I felt as he bound me, gagged me, and used me for his own concoctions. Forced me to kill, all for I since I had left him behind. He did not, or would not understand that what I was trying to do was protect him from within, be there for him to talk to when he had no one. He grew up, with me inside of him, and I had given him power that he could not hold. At such a young age, he could have not known that power corrupts, but as he grew he should have seen his actions. Not only did he throw his sanity to the wind, but he had killed his father, my husband, who even in his last days had mourned my apparent loss, crying out to Yevon, where, where was my soft touch in our son? 

As I had made him, he made me. 

I did not hold back in this fight, as the summoner cast my most tainted of power onto him. The chains that held me, held me close suddenly broke as I lashed out on him. Bit by bit I cut into his roughened exterior, his shrill cries of pain suddenly becoming music to my ears when once they were tearing, serrated blades in my heart. I cast off my chains, yes, but I still held them close. The reminded me of my love for him, my love for the son he _could_ have been if only I had not tainted his blood with my power, giving it fully to him to weild. Each cut I gave him mimiced the ones he had given me, his cries of pain pleasurable, knowing in full force that I had taken more than enough from him. Every death I caused that he took forgranted, all the pain that he made me inflict because every day of his life after my departure, he has hated me. Hated me for wanting to be there for him, for the rest of his days, even if I lived as a Fayth. 

One final swipe and he was down, and I shed another tear for my departed son before the young Summoner pulls me in. 

The next time I died was at the Summoner's own hands. I noticed the pain and sadness she felt. I had become a part of her, like her other Aeons, and she had grown to love me and depend on my strength. To watch me, fade away with the rest of her Aeons as I began to awaken destroyed the small part of her heart I occupied. 

So far from any feeling my own son ever carried... 

As I floated away, my human form awakening into a new death my withered arms still held these chains around me. They eminded me, forever more, that I will always love my son, but not for the man he had become, no, I could never fully love him 

But for the man my greed, my fear for not letting him truely grow and understand death and life as a means of way, as Fate would have it. 

My son, my precious Seymour.. 

He could have been great.. 

If not for my wanton need to be by his side, for all eternity. 

As the Summoner begins her dance, I can feel my last life essenses escape me. Surrounded by my others, I see the relief in their eyes as they lose their Aeon form and descend forth into the Farplane, their lips upturned into smiles as they hum our hymn, the Hymn of the Fayth. Slowly, ever so slowly, our bodies dissipate into nothingness, clear spheres of energy, fading away like life a small gust of wind has blown out. As my Aeon form falls apart, I look down at the Summoner and whisper my thank you, realizing that I no longer have any more tears to shed. Instead, my failing heart surges with a feeling, a feeling combined with the other Fayth who have been awakened and fly to the Farplane with a vengence. 

Not the fear that I had grown accustomed to. 

Not the frustration I had built up over time 

Yet neither the sadness that always accompanied me. 

It is hope. 

I merely just hope. 

  
  
  
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A/N: I don't own anyone/anything. 


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